


Silver (Ag)

by annunziatina



Series: "Nobel" Metals (A Noah x Isobel Coda Series) [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Missing Scene, Not Beta Read, Submissive Noah Bracken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annunziatina/pseuds/annunziatina
Summary: (Takes place during Episode 102: So Much For The Afterglow)Noah needs his lucky tie and Isobel needs a way to help Max.  Noah and Isobel share some heavy and lighthearted discussion in the bedroom.  Told from Noah's POV.This can be read as a stand-alone or as part of the whole.





	Silver (Ag)

**Author's Note:**

> silver  
> noun  
> a precious shiny grayish-white metal, it is valued for its decorative beauty, electrical and thermal conductivity, as well as for having the lowest contact resistance of all the metals.  
> silver medal, second prize
> 
> (Definition: Britannica)
> 
> *~*~*~*  
> This was really fun for me to write. I hope you enjoy reading it.

“How’s it going in there?” Coming up the stairs to the bedroom, Isobel’s tone is bright and teasing. She spoiled Noah with neckties again last night and though he’s been practicing the knots under her tutelage for nearly a week, he can’t seem to free the fourth and most important strip of silk from the bedpost.

“Too tight,” he whispers to himself. He fumbles with the last knot at the foot of the bed in a Hail Mary attempt to pry it loose. 

“Next time we do the thing I like with the thing and the thing, let's not use my lucky tie.” 

Isobel swoops to the rescue at a brisk walk and runs her hand down Noah’s arm in a wordless apology. She’s biting her lip, enjoying his struggle. Noah would play along, too, if he hadn’t spent half the night spooning a pillow instead of his wife. 

“I've got court today.” Noah avoids Isobel's eyes, trying to hide his frustration, but Isobel is practiced in finding Noah’s gaze. She captures it with affection. 

Isobel caresses the worried expression from his face as she reminds him of last night. “Seems pretty lucky where it is.” 

When she kisses him, it is as though Isobel can transfer her confidence in Noah to him through the touch of their lips. She lets it pass between them, soft and slow.

The confidence serves Noah less for the trial and more to admit aloud, “I missed you last night.” 

It had been strange to wake in the middle of the night and find himself alone. Noah had turned toward Isobel’s side of the bed, reached out, and hugged her pillow to his chest instead of his wife. 

If this is going to be a pattern, Noah wants more forewarning than the startlingly impersonal ‘I’ll be home soon’ note he found propped up on Isobel’s book of evening affirmations. The loopy script on floral patterned stationery still sits on the nightstand where she left it. Grateful as Noah is for any message at all, Isobel's vague note is a poor consolation for her company. 

“I know, I just-” Isobel takes over Noah’s knotwork, glancing down at her hands. 

Noah follows her gaze and knows in an instant something is wrong; there is something she isn’t telling him. He has felt her tie and untie these knots in the darkest part of night. He hasn’t screwed up the knot so badly she should be struggling. 

She finishes her vague excuse without lifting her eyes, but she must know he’s watching. “-had some things to take care of.” 

Noah and Isobel answer the unspoken question of ‘what things’ together as they meet each other’s eyes: “Max and Michael.”

The mattress has almost no give but Noah sinks into the comforter as he sits on the edge of the bed. The starched collar of his dress shirt is stiff in his hands as he adjusts it for Isobel to help him with his tie. 

“So predictably codependent,” Noah says of the whole squad. He hopes his wife won’t take offense to the truth. 

Under Isobel’s deft fingers, her knot finally slips from the bedpost and she pulls the line of fabric through her hands. There’s a darkness in her features, but Noah has a feeling it isn’t directed toward him.

The response Noah gets from Isobel is comforting in its honesty. “I'm actually really worried about Max right now.”

A laugh, some light-hearted joke about how this wasn’t Noah’s first rodeo with the Evans twins, wouldn’t sit well. But the gravity of Isobel’s tone and sincere concern in her frown tell Noah that she is trusting him with something real. 

Isobel places the tie about Noah's neck, distracted but following through an old ritual all the same. “His whole wavelength is off.”

At this, Noah makes a face of wonderment and confusion. He hasn’t heard Isobel speak in terms of wavelengths or intuition in a long time. 

Sometimes merely insinuating she may have some kind of psychic link to the world makes Isobel twitchy and defensive. (Noah is pretty sure it has something to do with not wanting to be associated with the town’s resident psychic, Maria Deluca, but he hasn’t gotten the whole story.) 

“Just a freaky twin thing.” Isobel tries to brush it off. “I don't know. I'm just getting a vibe.”

_Wavelengths? Vibes?_

“He's angry.”

Noah listens to Isobel speak in terms she's previously reserved for 'hippie dippy empaths and fortune-telling scam artists’ and something inside him shifts, unsettled. 

Isobel is taking on too much with her work, in town, as keeper of the peace between Max and Michael, and perhaps here at home, too. 

Their home is their safe space; it’s supposed to be. With all of the stepping out Isobel has been doing, it doesn’t really feel like it anymore. Nonetheless, Isobel has never expressed such concern for Max - a man typically level-headed. Some tourists and a few locals (Michael included) get under his skin, but never enough to cause Isobel distress. And Isobel probably loves Max above everyone else. If she’s been spending less time at home to spend more time with him, then maybe there’s a way to find a new balance.

Noah closes his eyes briefly before looking at Isobel straight on. It worries him that Isobel puts Max first, even before herself. Noah’s hope swells as he considers, maybe, he can take some of Isobel’s burden upon himself by drawing his and Max’s worlds together.

“You want me to take him out for a beer?” 

The most Noah gets out of Max are questions about law changes or requests for help with Michael when he’s gotten into trouble out of town. Those interactions are usually a quick phone call or a gruff exchange at a family BBQ. 

Noah is glad to be the husband, the brother-in-law, his family can turn to when things go south legally. But it’d be nice if he and Max were able to form some kind of connection, to be there for each other in good times and bad. “I can totally do the cowboy thing,” Noah jests.

Isobel smiles and her eyes light up; Noah warms at the sight. 

“Grunt, stare off into the distance,” he continues, and Isobel is dissolving into giggles. “Talk about belt buckles as a secret metaphor for emotions…” 

Tucked into the joke there’s a real offer to speak with Max, and he hopes his wife understands. 

“Aw, babe,” Isobel runs her fingers through Noah's hair and down his neck, “If he won't talk to me, he won't talk to you.” Steadying herself with her hands on her husband's shoulders, she leans in for a kiss. Noah pecks her lips, but she doesn't kiss back. 

There’s a moment when Noah thinks she’s reconsidering. Then, she says, like she’s had a revelation, “Maybe he'll talk to Michael.”

Noah blinks at her as she straightens up. “Michael? Are you sure?” 

Max and Michael haven’t been on the best of terms in forever. Isobel is the element that holds them together, sure, but stick Max and Michael in the same room without her and Noah is pretty sure somewhere something or somebody is going to combust. 

“Things are… tense… between them, are they not?”

“No,” Isobel shakes her head so adamantly that Noah wonders if she really doesn’t see it. “It’s not that bad. They’re just-” When she sighs, Noah considers that her naivete is a mask. 

“They’ve been best friends since we were kids,” Isobel continues. “After high school things got a little-” she shrugs as if no words could do justice in explaining the quick turnaround in their relationship. “Max went into law enforcement and Michael… you know.”

Noah adjusts the tuck of his shirt and the lay of his belt. “Yeah.” His fingertips graze the tails of his tie still hanging loose over his shoulders. “I know Michael.” It's silly, Noah thinks, to stall for Isobel to do up his necktie. But he wants; he should ask. Isobel should see.

“Don’t say it like that.” Isobel leans against the bedpost and Noah drops his hands. 

“Like what?” Noah speaks the name again: “Michael.” Then, he’s smiling. “I like Michael.” It’s not a lie, but Noah supposes, with the guy’s reputation, Isobel isn’t used to hearing anyone say the phrase without sarcasm. “He’s a stand up guy.”

“Noah.”

“I mean it, Is.” Noah reaches out to his wife and takes his hands in hers. It’s not a gesture he makes lightly; usually he waits for her to make a move like this. 

At the brush of his thumb over her wedding band, Isobel looks down at their hands and gives them a light squeeze. 

Noah's sincerity comes through when he softens his voice. It's the tone Isobel knows can never tell a lie. “I trust Michael, okay?” He waits until a quirk at the corner of Isobel's mouth tells him she believes. 

His smile grows, then, relaxed and playful. “Why else would I do all that paperwork for him pro bono? The guy had a rap sheet a mile long before I had most of it expunged.”

Isobel tilts her head and purses her lips and suddenly she looks much younger. Noah half expects her to start batting her lashes like she did when she had first asked him to take a look at Michael’s history. “Aw, babe, I thought you did that for me.”

“Okay, I did do _that_ for you. But wading through his mess of misdemeanors, and over many many beers, I got to know him… Is, he loves you. So, I… like him, too.”

Isobel is too quiet after that, like she’s holding back from saying something. Noah assumes the dam bursts because what comes out of her mouth next isn’t a question he ever expected her to ask. 

“Babe, do you _like_ Michael?” The drawl of the question is too suggestive to miss.

“What?” Noah would have dropped her hands if she wasn’t gripping them tightly. “No. Look in the mirror. He’s very much not my type.”

Iosbel’s eyebrows rise in suspicion and Noah doesn’t have long to wait before she’s telling him why. “He says you were checking him out.”

“That’s…” _true,_ Noah admits only to himself. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” Noah knows exactly. 

“Oh, so you didn’t look him head to toe when you came to pick me up from his place?”

Noah’s jaw drops and he’s tempted to point to his watch, mumble ‘Look at the time,’ and bolt for the door. Instead, his eyes meet with her gaze and he finds he can’t run away. “I showed up with coffee, bagels, and the newspaper. He answered the door in his boxers. Again.”

“And did you like what you saw?” This question is just as slow and suggestive as her other.

_I approved. But not for the reason you think._ Noah’s face is hot and growing hotter. “Why is he always in his boxers?”

“I think he said he’s doing you a favor.” Isobel releases Noah’s hands to place her cool palms on his blushing cheeks. “Something along the lines of ‘look don’t touch’?” 

“Oh my God.” Noah closes his eyes and wishes he had left for work without questioning Isobel’s brilliant plan to shove Michael at Max’s supposed anger management issues.

“He says you’ve been checking him out since forever.” 

Isobel’s hands are in Noah’s hair again and maybe it’s not so bad to be teased like this. So long as Isobel's hands are on him, Noah feels invincible. She's the armor he chooses, even when she's lobbing pot shots his way. 

“You know that’s why he wears his shirts half undone at our house, right?”

“Are you kidding me? Did he say that?” Noah is pretty sure Michael wears his shirts half undone most of the time, but it’s not like he sees the man hanging around town. 

Isobel is giggling again and Noah shakes his head half-amused, enraptured, and altogether quite flustered. 

“Are you still worried about trial?” she asks as if this was all a ploy to distract him, but Noah knows better. 

Noah doesn’t mean to let his worry get the best of him, but her question floods his mind with thoughts about his opening statement, his anxiety-riddled plaintiff, and the defense attorney from hell. 

_Still worried?_ “Yes!” He catches himself before truly raising his voice at his wife. Suddenly, and for some reason he can’t place, worry is about all he has. “And on top of that, now I don’t know how to act the next time I see Michael.”

Isobel covers her mouth to hide her laughing smile. “I love you, Noah Bracken.”

“You were just messing with me, right?” There is too much truth to what Isobel has said for her inquisition about Noah and Michael to be a farce. 

“No.” Isobel kisses Noah’s pout. “But I’ll set the record straight with him if you can tell me why he thinks you stare.” With a swipe of her thumb across Noah's bottom lip, Isobel smudges her lip color from his mouth.

“Oh.” Noah takes a deep breath. Riding the wave of a subconscious thought, Noah’s hand rises from his lap to come to rest over his heart. He rubs the twin bruises Isobel had sucked into his skin - one fading, the other less than a day old. Both spots ache if he presses hard enough. He increases the pressure of his fingertips.

“What is it?” Isobel covers Noah’s hand with both of hers. “Noah. Babe?” 

“I was…” Noah doesn’t want to hurt her by admitting a history of misgivings. “The first time I picked you up from Michael’s, I didn’t know him. I knew he had a reputation. 

“I trusted you; I thought I did. But then he answered the door in nothing but his underwear and I second guessed myself. I thought maybe I wasn’t the only one you…” Noah can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He can’t tell Isobel, in so many words, that he thought his fiance had been unfaithful. 

Under the cool blanket of Isobel’s palms, Noah digs his fingers deeper into the bruises over his heart.

“Noah,” Isobel speaks his name on a breath and it sounds like a prayer. She takes his head in her hands and waits for his eyes to meet hers. “Never.” She sniffs, but her eyes are dry. “No one else. Ok? Not like this.” 

Her hands slide up his neck and down again to his collar bones, then his pectorals. Her fingers pause and prod. They travel to his ribcage and abdomen continuing the same dance. They find each mark her mouth left behind, not needing to see them to remember where they were under his shirts. 

“I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m sorry,” Isobel says evenly. Her fingers continue down the length of Noah’s body, over his thighs before they press his knees apart. Slowly, she lowers herself to kneel between them.

Noah’s eyebrows knit together, the muscles twitching as his lips pull downward into a frown. “Is-” He's not used to seeing her like this. 

Isobel's place is above him or beneath him, but always holding him with her hands, her bindings, or her measured gaze. Having her at his feet, head bowed in apology is disorienting. 

“It’s on me, Noah. You didn’t feel comfortable telling me; that’s on me. Tonight, we’ll unwind together. Unpack all this, okay?”

Noah's hand trembles as it extends out to her. If their positions were reversed, like Noah's mind cried out for them to be, Isobel would reach for the nape of Noah's neck.

He can't bring himself to follow in her example. A tap to her chin signals Isobel to lift her eyes.

“Okay.” Noah agrees to a night in their proper roles. 

It’s been so long since he’s knelt at her feet, placed his head in her lap, and opened up to her in their judgment free space. It’s been so long since he’s felt her hand hold the back of his neck, so long since he’s listened to her talk about her own triumphs and fears.

Isobel nods against the light support of Noah's fingers beneath her chin. “It’s a date.”

Noah is already planning a longer route home - a stop at the florist and the supermarket. Date night calls for roses, and he’ll need fresh ingredients to prepare Isobel’s favorite meal. “I’d like that.”

Isobel smiles as she pulls Noah’s neglected tie from his shoulders. 

Eyes wide, Noah stares at the line of silk hanging between them. 

“We’re going to do this right.” Isobel’s words send a shiver through Noah, raising goosebumps on his skin. “It’s your lucky tie. You have court today.” 

_She had noticed._ Even when preoccupied with her worry for Max, entertained by her own jests about Michael, Isobel had realized Noah needs her, too, today. 

Isobel rises to her feet and takes a step back to give space for Noah. He stands in front of her, expelling a steadying breath. 

Through her hands, the silken fabric moves and bends. She wraps it around her palm and pulls it tight, smoothing the wrinkles as best she can. It isn’t perfect, but it shouldn’t be; the imperfections are part of the appeal. 

Isobel wants Noah to remember the time they'd spent together the night before. 

Noah wants to remember surrendering control to her. 

When in court, a touch to his tie - during his opening statement, while examining a witness, at the start of his closing argument - is all he needs to find his center. 

Noah remembers when the tie was only symbol they used, the only mark of Isobel he wore through the day. Before he realized he could find comfort in the bruises her mouth could leave behind, before they’d exchanged vows and rings at their wedding, Noah had this lucky tie. It means less and more now; he doesn’t need it. But Isobel recognizes his intention of wearing it today; she really sees him. The depths of her care for Noah settles in his bones. 

Isobel’s touch is both careful and firm as she wraps the silk around Noah’s neck in a way she hasn’t in years. She kisses him long and soft as the knot slides up to secure snug at his throat. The fingers that trace the line of his collar speak of her love and devotion more than words, but she says them anyway. 

Noah exhales and he straightens his spine. His chin drops to his chest and his eyes focus on the squared-off toes of Isobel’s boots. To his forehead, Isobel offers a hard, dry press of her lips, and in Noah’s chest, an ache he hadn’t realized was there abates.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
